Much Ado About ?
by Ms. SpearBourne
Summary: When Reggie shows up late one night at Becker's apartment with Chinese food, will he realise what she's trying to say or will he think it's much ado about nothing? How things should have gone . . .
1. Something

Much Ado About ?

The knock at the door startled him, as did whom he saw when he opened it. "Hey, Reg. Kinda late. Everything OK?"

"Well, you know, Becker, I was in the mood for Chinese food, so I went to Ming's and then I remembered how much _you_ liked it, so I thought maybe, uh, you might like some Chinese food, too." She knew she was rambling, but for some odd reason, she couldn't stop herself.

"Oh, ah, actually, see, I'm," he held up his half empty carton of lo mein noodles. He was tripping over his own words now. Why did she seem to have that effect on him lately?

"Ah," she said. "You already ate."

"Yeah, but you were right, I was certainly in the mood for Chinese."

She looked at him somewhat sheepishly, hoping that, somehow, he might know the real reason for her late-night visit.

"Oh! So you want to come in or something?" Becker offered.

"Yeah, I think I do." She crossed the threshold into his apartment and stood patiently, holding her bag of Chinese food.

Becker closed the door and crossed his living room to join her. "What'd you want?"

She took a breath before beginning, hoping that she wasn't about to make a complete fool of herself. "OK, look. I've been thinking about some things, so I thought I'd just come over here and say it and get it over with."

"Say what?" Becker had been fighting his feelings for Regina Kostas for so long that he almost didn't dare hope she was about to say what he'd been wanting to say for years. Almost.

"You know how something can be right in front of your face and you never notice it? But then something happens to make you notice it and then you wonder why you never noticed it to begin with?"

_Oh, I noticed you. _"I never really noticed."

"Well, what I'm trying to say is . . . Becker, is there any chance you already know why I'm here?" Reggie asked, her eyes glistening.

"It was the food, right?" _Come on, just say it, Reg! Before I pounce on you!_

"No," the expression on her face betrayed her disappointment and confusion. "No, it's much more important than the food. It's, uh . . ." She looked everywhere except at him, knowing that if she did, she might blurt out that she loved him. "That chair. Have you always had that?"

"This? Yeah, yeah, I got it in my last divorce. I stole it from my wife's lawyer."

"See? That's the perfect example of what I'm talking about. That's a really nice chair." Her voice was quivering now. "A-and I've really never noticed it. I mean, that's an Eames chair; it's probably worth more than your car."

"This Chinese food's worth more than my car."

Reggie nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's not my point."

"Yeah, wh-what _is_ your point, Reg?" _There's no way I'm making the first move. Not after she's made it clear in the past that she can barely stand me._

"That I've been here so many times and I've never _really_ seen that chair. I mean, I've _seen_ it, but I've never _really seen_ it. Don't you see what I'm trying to say, Becker?"

"We're not really talking about the chair, are we?" he responded, still wondering why she had come knocking on his door. There had to more to it than wanting to share Chinese food. Was it possible that she wanted more . . . from _him_?

"Thank you," she said, relieved that she might not have to spell it out for him.

"So, what _are_ we talking about?"

"Well, it's . . . uhh, how do I say this?"

He'd seen that look before. He'd seen a younger woman - a girl, really- look up at a man she should not have fallen in love with like that. If Reggie was having so much trouble getting the words out, he would have to give her a little push. "You don't have to, Reg. There's something I've been wanting to - aw, hell." He strode the two steps to close the distance between them and kissed her, softly at first, then with the passion that had been mounting between them for years. "Is that what you were trying to say, Reg?"

She was too stunned to say anything, so she just smiled up at him and brought his lips back down to meet hers.

It wasn't until the next morning that they managed to share the food Reggie had brought with her.

XXXX

"Mmm, morning, Becker," Reggie murmured as she stretched her long legs beneath the covers and cuddled close to him.

"Morning, Reg. You know, morning doesn't seem so crappy with you here."

"Gee, Becker, I think that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she deadpanned.

"Come on, Reg. You know me. What'd you expect? A sonnet at 5:30 in the morning?"

"Meh, a girl can dream, can't she?"

"Hey, Reg? What finally got you to admit . . . how you feel about me?"

"Well, if I'm totally honest, it was seeing you all wound up about Chris going out of town." She tried to hide her face so he wouldn't see her blushing.

"Oh, th-that. Yeah. I don't know why I did that. She's always so damned _perky._"

"Hmph. Yeah, she's an optimist. She sees the good in everything. Complete opposite of you," she jabbed him playfully.

He flipped her onto her back and kissed her. "You think so? Well, I can find the good in you."

"And I'm glad I can give you something to smile about."

XXXX

OK, there you have it. It bothered me for years that, on the show, Becker wound up with Chris. _No, no, no, no, no_, just . . . NO! He belongs with Reggie! Anyway, my 'apologies' for the fluff. That's sort of the way it went when I started writing it. I couldn't really help myself.


	2. It's Complicated

Much Ado About . . . It's Complicated

"Well, Becker, I guess I should head to the diner and get ready to open up," Reggie murmured an hour or so later.

"Oh, come on, five more minutes," he insisted into her dark locks as he pulled her closer.

"Jo-ohn, you've been saying 'five more minutes' for the last half hour," she reminded him. He mumbled something unintelligible into her hair while she struggled to escape his grasp. "Don't you want your first cigarette of the day?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess you're right. We should -" he grunted as he tumbled out of his side of the bed, "get up and get going. Care to join me in the shower?" he asked with a suggestive smile.

"Well, all right. But we'd better make it a quick one!"

Nearly forty-five minutes later, they arrived at Reggie's Diner. Jake was already there to greet them. "Hey, Reg. Is your phone upstairs broken or something? Somebody called a little while ago _demanding_ to know where you were. Oh, hi, John."

"Hey, Jake. I'm grabbing some gum," he alerted as he dropped some change on the counter.

"Uh, well, I had to . . . turn the ringer off because some weird guy kept calling me all night. Wrong number, actually, but he refused to leave me alone. Any message from the call you took?" Reggie knew she was rambling again, but she was _not_ ready for anyone to know what happened between her and Becker the night before.

"Naw, she said she'd call ya back around lunch. Or did she say she'd catch ya around lunch?" Jake shrugged. _Why're these two acting so strangely?_ He couldn't help but wonder if Becker had spent the night at Reggie's and they simply didn't want him to know about it. _Nah, that wouldn't happen. They argue so much that . . . maybe that's masking their true feelings? Reggie and the doc?_ Jake shuddered involuntarily. _That would be strange._

Fortunately, Reggie and Becker were too busy having a silent conversation with their eyes to notice Jake's reaction to the thought of the two of them together. "Coffee's almost ready, Becker. Breakfast?"

"Uh, yeah . . . Danish."

"Morning, losers!" Bob greeted almost too cheerily. "Bob's having such a great day, nobody could ruin it!"

"Yeah? What happened, Bob, somebody throw away a jacket and you fished it out of the trash?" Becker mused as he stirred his coffee.

Bob merely laughed. "No. Bob has met the woman of his dreams. She's petite, curvy, has a walk that could stop traffic, and a smile that would light up this place like a disco!"

"Oh, gawd, Bob. You're not going after Aileen again, are you?" Becker was thoroughly disgusted with the smaller man's gushing.

"Aw, is poor Becker worried that Bob would intrude on his space? Believe me, Doc, if I were still pining for Aileen, you'd never know about it. Well, I'm off to pick up a part for Mrs. DeSoto's sink. Later, losers!"

All three breathed a sigh of relief that Bob hadn't stayed longer. Reggie ducked into the kitchen to fetch some pastry and check the grill.

"So, John, why'd you show up here so early?" Jake asked from his perch just down the diner's counter.

"Oh, uh, I was, um, I woke up early, so I decided to get an early start to my day." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Is there, uh, something wr-wrong with that?"

"Naw, man, just curious. That's all."

Just then, Reggie returned with Becker's Danish. He shot her a look that told her Jake might be on to them. She shook her head in disbelief, after all, how could the blind man know they had come in together?

"So, Reggie," Jake began. "John's soap didn't dry out your skin? Yeah, I could smell that when you two came in the front door."

The two were speechless for a moment. Then they began sputtering excuses for why Reggie might've come in the front and Becker was right behind her. They'd bumped into each other on the sidewalk. But Jake wasn't buying any of it. "Hey, hey, hey, it's OK." He held his hands up. "If you two aren't ready to admit something went on last night, that's cool." He rose to return to his newsstand. "I'll play along like I don't know anything. The blind man saw nothing."

Chris entered dragging a heavy suitcase. "Hey, everybody! Oh, it's a great day, isn't it?" she said far too cheerily for that hour of the morning.

"Oh, great. Sunshine's here," Becker mumbled around bites of his Danish.

"Hi, Chris. Nice trip?" Reggie asked amiably.

"Huh? Oh, sure. I got to catch up with my ex-husband and pick up the last of my stuff that he had. I tell ya, it's good to stay friends with an ex, isn't it?" The smile never left her face.

Becker scoffed loudly. Neither of his ex-wives would say something like that. They'd taken all they could from him and left with him the clothes on his back and not much else. Why the _hell_ was this woman so damn happy all the time? She was still going on about how much fun she'd had with her ex and her old friends. If she'd been so happy there, why did she come back to the Bronx? Becker only shook his head as he hazarded a glance towards Reggie. He was so relieved she was a realist. Life hadn't been all that kind to her, but she tried to be optimistic without expecting miracles.

"Oh, hey, Bob!" Chris called out. "Listen, thanks for taking care of my apartment and my fish."

"Oh, no problem, Chris. Bob was pleased to do it. How was your visit with your ex? Everything squared away?" Bob asked without his usual attempt to undress her with his eyes.

"It was great. I even found my old racquetball equipment. You, uh, play?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course. How about this afternoon? I have to repair a sink, but that won't take long."

"Great. You want to meet here for lunch?"

"Better make it around one. Mrs. DeSoto has a little crush on Bob and she likes to give him a cookie or something she baked when he fixes stuff."

"She gives you treats? Doesn't sound like a crush, Bob. That sounds like she's rewarding a dog. Or in your case, a lap dog," Becker stated derisively as he lit up a cigarette.

"Oh, yeah, Doc? Bob told you earlier, nobody can ruin his good mood! Bob will see _you_ later for a game," he pointed both hands at Chris before sauntering back out of the diner.

"Reggie, I think I'd like some breakfast. Um, eggs over-medium, sausage, wheat toast, and some orange juice," Chris called from her booth. "So, John . . . did you miss me while I was gone?" she asked with a grin after Reggie disappeared into her kitchen.

"Miss you? I hardly noticed you were gone," he scoffed.

"Sure, you didn't," she drawled.

Jake listened to their exchange with amusement. Becker had managed to make Reggie jealous with a _little _interest in Chris's whereabouts. How would she react to this seeming flirtation?


	3. What?

As always, I own nothing. Becker belongs to Dave Hackel Productions, I'm just playing with their toys.

But that "Aileen" that Becker mentioned earlier? She _does_ belong to me. You'll see her in the House fic I'm working on.

Much Ado About . . . What? Why does everyone seem to want Becker these days?

"My, my, John! You certainly seem to be in a better mood today!" Margaret exclaimed when Becker strolled in through the front door.

"Yeah, well, let's just say I had a great night's rest and leave it at that. Who's up first?"

Margaret chuckled. She knew what "great night's rest" _really_ meant coming from John Becker. "Nothing yet, John. It's not even nine yet, and your first appointment's not until nine-thirty."

"Oh, all right. I guess I'll make a couple of calls and get that out of the way."

_Mm-hm!_ Margaret gleaned that it was something more than a release of the stress he'd been feeling the last few days, but what could have made him feel _so_ much better that he'd get to work early? Whatever, or _who_ever, it was _must _be good for him. Unless it was so bad that he needed to get away and find a distraction-

"Hi, Margaret," Linda greeted as she tripped through the door. "Before you say anything, I know I'm late. But there was this, um, it had a -"

"Oh, Linda, it's all right. You're only a few minutes late today. Better than the half-hour late you usually are."

"Really? Wow, I guess my clock's broken, then. Which is weird because it's supposed to have a guarantee that it'll run for ten years without any problems."

"If it has a warranty, you can send it in for repairs," she suggested.

"Well, the thing is, Margaret, that _this_ clock was a gift from Gil, so I don't _actually_ have the warranty . . . or a receipt . . ."

Margaret held her hands up in defeat. "I get the idea. Maybe you should get a new clock."

"Hm, maybe," Linda agreed slowly.

Several hours and many aggravating patients later, Linda got off the phone with a friend of hers.

"Big plans for the evening?" Margaret asked.

"Oh, not really, we're just gonna grab something to eat, maybe go to a club. What're you doing tonight?"

"Well, let's see, I'm gonna go home and, uh, get dinner started. It's Tuesday, so that means mac and cheese. Um, Lewis and I will eat in front of the television; he'll fall asleep. I'll do the crossword, go to bed, get up, and start all over tomorrow."

Linda couldn't fight the urge to hug her.

"What's this for?" Margaret asked, disconcerted.

"All of it!"

"What do you mean?"

"Your life! It's just so . . . dull!" Linda hoped she'd never be in such a rut.

"My life isn't dull! Sometimes, I cut up little hot dogs into the mac and cheese."

Linda hugged her again. When Margaret pushed her away, Linda exclaimed, "I can't help it! You need a night out. Look, come with Julie and me. We'll go to dinner and maybe go dancing. It'll be fun!"

"On a _Tuesday_? Ooh, I don't know."

"You _have_ to come with me. Or else, it'll ruin _my _night. I'll be out somewhere having fun and then I'll start thinking of _you_ with the mac and the cheese and the hot dogs and Lewis. Look, just do it for me, OK?"

Chris limped in on Bob's arm. "All right, almost there, one more step," he said as he helped Chris hobble her way through the door.

"Oh, my god, are you all right?" Linda asked.

"I'll get John," Margaret proclaimed as she headed towards his office.

"What happened?" Linda asked, concerned and curious.

Chris herself was a bit confused. "I'm not really sure. I - We were playing racquetball, I don't know if I was going for the ball or Bob was. I've never seen anyone move that fast!"

"Bob?" Linda asked incredulously.

"Yeah, he - he was a blur! The guy's in street clothes and a leather jacket, but he was running up the walls like in the Matrix!" She still couldn't believe how well he'd managed to play.

"I was pretty good, wasn't I?" Bob asked proudly. _Considering until this morning, I didn't even know what racquetball was!_

Becker came out to see what the commotion was. "Wha'td you do, twist your ankle?"

Chris was slightly embarrassed. "No, no, it's my knee. It's happened before. It's like it popped out of the socket or something."

"Ew, gross." Linda did not like the sound of that.

Margaret was quick to reprimand her. "Linda!"

"Well, it _is_."

Becker helped Chris to her feet. "Let's get you back in the exam room. I'll take a look."

"Well," Bob knew he should leave. "OK, we'll do this again soon, OK? Well, you know, everything up to the point where you were curled up in a ball on the floor screaming. Amazing how many of my date's end that way," he remarked as he made a hasty exit.

"Uh, John, do you want me to stay?" Margaret called down the hall.

"Oh, no, no, no, you go on home. I don't want you to miss mac and cheese night."

Margaret turned to Linda. "You. Me. Let's go!" she declared.

As they made their way into an exam room, Chris apologised for bothering him when he was about to close the office. "Sorry to bother you like this. I would've gone to the emergency room but they make you wait, like, ten hours before anyone _helps _you and then the only thing they _really _care about is how you're gonna pay."

Becker helped her hop up onto the bed and sat in front of her. "Yeah, they _are _pretty heartless. You - you do have insurance, don't you?"

She reassured him with a smile and a simple "Yes."

"OK, then, let's take a look here," he murmured as he began massaging her injured knee.

"You know, the last time I popped my knee out like this, I was sunbathing in Mexico."

"You popped your knee out _sunbathing_?" He couldn't believe someone could get hurt so easily.

"Kind of a funny story, really. See, I was in this lounge chair and it actually folded up on me. You know, like in a cartoon? And . . ."

"Even an injury amuses you? Can't you bitch and moan like everybody else?" This woman was irritating with her optimism.

"Ow, ow, that hurts!" she cried out as he manipulated her leg.

"That's more like it." _Now_ she sounded like one of his patients.

"Aah, oh!" she screamed again. He pushed on her leg some more until he heard her pleasant and surprised voice say "Ooh, oh, you just - you just popped it back in! How'd you do that?"

"Oh, who knows?" he remarked casually as he rubbed her knee to be sure it was fine. "I just moved stuff around until you stopped screaming." Why did that seem like such a familiar comment? Realising when he'd heard himself say that before, he pulled away from the perky blonde in front of him.

This couldn't be good.


	4. Love?

Much Ado About . . . Love?

Becker was still so discombobulated about what had happened with Chris - not that anything had actually _happened _- and he needed to talk to somebody about it! He picked up the phone and dialled a familiar number.

"Hello?" a soft, feminine voice answered.

"Aileen? Hey, it's Dad. I just called to say happy birthday. A little late, I know."

"Aw, thanks, Dad. What's wrong? You sound like you've got something else on your mind." The woman was almost _too _perceptive.

"Yeah, yeah. I _do_ need to talk to you about something."

"Sure, Dad. What's up?"

"Well . . . See, there's this woman going into the diner lately. She's _unbelievably_ cheerful! And she hurt her knee playing racquetball with Bob and -"

"Wait, wait," she interjected. _"Bob_ was playing racquetball? Let me guess. In his street clothes?"

"Hmph. I was kinda hoping you'd forgotten Bob. But yeah, pleather jacket and all. So he takes her into my office today, just as I'm _closing_, and I take a look. I popped her knee back into the socket and she asked _how_ I did that. I told her I moved stuff around until she stopped screaming."

Aileen chuckled. "That's how I got here!"

He grinned at the silly memory. "Yeah, it is. That's when I noticed I still had my hand on her knee, and I was thinking of you and your mom. How is she, by the way? I haven't talked to her in a while."

"Oh, she's . . . Mama. She's deep into another book about one of her experiments." She let out a long breath. "So she hasn't had much time for anything else these last few weeks."

"Oh, uh-huh."

"So, how's Reg?"

"She's good. We, uh, she came over to my place a couple nights ago and we, uh . . ." Did he really want to tell his only child about this?

"Did you two _finally_ get together?" she asked with a frustrated tone. She'd some sparks between the two when she'd lived in the Bronx up until last year.

"Oh . . . she came by with Chinese food and I kissed her."

"That's _all?_"

"That's the short version of events. She spent the night."

"Oh! Well, I - I'm happy for you, Dad. Have you screwed it up yet?" Why did everyone in her family, including herself, have to have such bad luck with love?

"No, no. But this thing with Chris . . ."

"Aaaahhhh," she sighed in understanding. "You're wondering about what to tell Reggie since it's still new."

"And I'm confused. It's not that I _like_ Chris. It's just . . ."

"Maybe . . . you're feeling insecure and wondering if what you could have with Reggie is real? Just don't do to her what Gregory did to me." Becker could almost hear the glare she was giving her husband.

"Yeah, I guess I should just tell Chris I'm not going to treat her anymore. I don't - I don't want to _invite_ trouble. But I don't need to tell Reg about all this, do I?"

"I don't see why. I mean, nothing actually _happened_, right? You treated Chris's knee, and you only felt, what, a little uncomfortable in the situation. It's not like you _kissed _her or anything!"

"That's true." Things always made more sense when he talked them out with someone who wasn't an idiot. Of course, it helped that Aileen was an expert on the human mind. But that husband of hers . . . Becker never could stand Gregory, ever since the day he'd started dating his daughter.

He'd been a _fine _student when Becker had been teaching at Johns Hopkins. And he was glad to introduce him to his daughter so she could help him develop a better bedside manner. But when she'd told her father that she had feelings for him? Becker had almost hit the ceiling in disbelief and anger.

And now they were married. At least they didn't actually _live _together.

Why couldn't life be simpler?

* * *

><p>The following day, Becker decided to talk to Jake about what had happened. "You don't understand. I had my <em>hand<em> on Chris's _knee_."

"Okay, maybe I'm missing something here. Why is that a problem?" Jake crossed his arms, hoping Becker would go into more detail.

"Because she's a woman. I'm not supposed to notice that. A patient is a patient. They're just . . . parts with insurance."

"There's your ad for the yellow pages," Jake quipped.

"I don't know why I'm so . . . about all this. It's not like I have _feelings_ for her!"

"Yeah. And there's Reggie."

"Yeah, Reggie. You know, Aileen said it might be because I'm feeling insecure about starting something _real _with Reg?"

"Hm, that sounds like something she'd say."

"Yeah, yeah. So what do _you_ think?"

"I'd have to agree with Aileen. Despite her taste in men, she's very insightful."

"Yeah. She is." He was so proud of his little girl and her accomplishments! "Well, I should head for the office. See you, Jake."

"See you, John. Or, not _see_ you . . . Aw, hell, you know what I mean!"

Reggie walked out of the kitchen just as she was saying goodbye to someone on the phone. After she hung up, she turned to Jake. "Hey, Jake. You need some more coffee?"

"Sure. Maybe some toast and jam, too."

"Okay." The smile on her face was plain for him to hear.

"Well, you're in a good mood!"

"Yeah, I am. I just talked to Aileen and told her what happened with Becker. He'd already told her last night. She said it was the nicest thing he's given her for birthday in a while! You know? To hear that he has something good in his life?"

"Wow. That is amazing," Jake responded sincerely. "But I thought she didn't like any of his girlfriends in the past?"

"No, she didn't like his _wives_ because of how they treated him. But what girl wants to see her father treated the way those two treated Becker?"

Jake inclined his head in silent agreement.

* * *

><p>"You know what you need?" Linda asked Margaret, who was still terribly hung over from their night out together.<p>

"_Don't_ say a little hair of the dog that bit me," she retorted.

"Well, I don't know what kind of weird voodoo _you're_ into, but I was just going to suggest a bloody Mary."

Margaret glared at her, but before she could come up with a clever response, Becker walked in. He was so caught up in his own thoughts, though, that he didn't even realise that Linda was the one answering his questions instead of Margaret, who was in far too much pain to be of any help to anyone.

"Margaret, did the lab call back with Mrs. Cramer's test results?"

"I typed them up and put them on your desk," Linda informed him as she glanced at the calender.

"And . . . you submit the HMO forms from last week?"

"I filled them out this morning."

"What about the X-ray machine?" Becker was going through the messages on the counter.

"I called the repair company and they'll be here within the hour." Linda glanced sideways at Margaret to make sure she was all right, aside from the hangover.

"Good job, Margaret," he told a dazed nurse. She felt like death warmed over, but Becker continued as though things were normal. "You know, Linda, don't - don't just _stand_ there. At least _look_ like you're doing something!"

Oh, if only he knew who was handling all the work _this _morning, both women mused. Neither of them said a word, but both knew they would be having a talk about this later.

Chris surprised Becker in his office. "Hi," she greeted cheerily.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he mumbled.

"Well, I was in the neighbourhood, so I thought I'd stop by and Linda said to come on back."

"Oh, Linda, totally useless."

He sat and regarded her. "So how's your knee?"

"My knee's fine. But now I'm having some neck pain. I don't know if I hurt it when I fell or when Bob tried to give me CPR."

"Why would Bob give you CPR?"

"Oh, I think he just wanted to. Here," she continued, adjusting the collar of her blouse. "Let me show where it hurts."

"Actually, I have a better idea," he interrupted her and turned to reach for his prescription pad.

"That a prescription for painkillers?"

"No, it's the name of an orthopaedist. And here's the name of a good physical therapist. And here's a referral for a new . . . GP," he informed her softly.

"Why would I need a new doctor? I have _you_," she remarked rather fondly.

"I don't want to treat you anymore."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch.

"It's your insurance" he improvised. "I can't accept it."

"I'll pay cash," she insisted.

"I'm very busy. We're booked solid."

"I can come after work," she offered with a slightly suggestive smile.

"I'm _too tired_ after work," he said, exasperation filling his tone. Why couldn't this woman get it through her head that he didn't want to treat her anymore? Did he have to get mean? Or mean_er_?

Chris giggled, completely oblivious to Becker's expression. "Did something happen since the last time I was here?"

"Look," he rose and turned to stare her down. He hoped he looked intimidating. "You had an emergency yesterday. I took care of that. But I don't _want _any new patients. Let's leave it at that. All right? So take your knee and your neck and get out of here."

Chris sighed and rose. "Fine. You know, people say you're surly and obnoxious, but they're wrong. You're just an _ass,_" she remarked before turning to walk out the door.

"Now, wait a minute, here," Becker called out. "_You're_ calling _me_ an ass? I tell you I'm too busy, I offer you a doctor who has as _sunny_ a disposition as you, but you want me to keep my office opened _for you_. How exactly does that make _me_ an ass? What is it? Is it because I don't want to start keeping my office opened late every night? Because _that's _what would happen! I stay late for you, pretty soon, _everybody'd _start saying, 'Well, you stay late for Chris, why not me?' Or are you so _special _that the whole world revolves around _you?_"

Chris scrunched her face up like she was about to cry, but nothing came out. "Oh, my gosh," her eyes widened as the truth hit her like a brick and she clamped a hand over her mouth, then lowered it so she could speak. "I _did_ act like what I just accused you of, didn't I? You know, my ex-husband _told_ me I should stop expecting others to be so accommodating, but I thought he was just being mean. You know? Like you? But . . . Maybe I _do_ want everyone to be as nice as me."

"As nice as _I,_" he corrected. "Here," he handed her the referrals he had jotted down for her. "That GP I recommended, he's about as cheery as you are. He'll like you. And," he sighed before continuing. "I'm sorry I had to be mean to you. You just wouldn't take no for an answer, and I _hate_ when people do that."

"No, no, I understand! I was the obnoxious one. You know, _this _time. I'll just, uh, be going then. Good night, John."

"Yeah, good night, Chris." Finally, some peace. At least, until the next chaotic patient.

* * *

><p>Becker was relaxing in his armchair with a book before dinner when a knock at the door startled him. He looked through the peephole and saw a mess of curly blonde hair. He opened the door and let her in, hoping <em>she<em> wouldn't get the wrong idea.

"All right, I've been thinking about it, and I know why you won't see me as a patient," she declared as she swept past him into the living room.

"I gave you, like, _thirty_ _reasons _why," he reminded her.

"But you didn't give me the _real_ reason." She paused for effect. "It's because you like me."

Becker gawked at her incredulously. What the _hell_ kind of mental gymnastics did she perform to come to _that_ conclusion? "_What?_ What the hell kind of mental gymnastics convinced you of that?"

"You know what? I think I like you, too. I have no idea _why_, based on the rude way you treat me. I don't know, maybe that's just your way of showing affection. We'll have to work on that." She moved to lean on his desk. "So why don't we just cut to the chase, go out, and see what happens?"

"Who _are_ you?" Becker advanced on her.

"What do you mean?" She smiled up at him.

"I mean . . . What _planet _do you come from? Where is it that people act like you? I mean, you're always so damn . . . _happy,"_ he accused. "Yeah, you make me _sick_."

"Yeah, me, too," Reggie remarked as she emerged from the bathroom with a towel around her head. She'd listened in on the entire exchange and waited for an opportune moment to reveal herself.

"Oh," Chris looked crestfallen. "Oh!" She put two and two together. "I didn't realise - If I'd . . . If I had known . . ." Flustered, she made her way to the door. "I - buh," she babbled before exiting. Alone in the hallway, she lamented to herself, "I am so lame!"

* * *

><p>"What was <em>that<em> all about, Becker?" Reggie managed to ask without laughing.

"Oh, I don't want to take on any new patients, but she wouldn't accept it, so I had to get mean with her."

"You mean you weren't already? Mean to her, I mean."

"Well, I was my usual _charming_ self. You know she wanted to come _after_ hours for me to treat her?"

"I can see why. The nerve!" Reggie could understand why she'd want to see Becker when he wouldn't be busy with other patients. "Well, I guess we won't be able to hide our . . . relationship for much longer."

"Yeah, listen, about that. Before we go out to dinner, I think we should talk about this."

Her stomach sank. Was it possible this was just a fling for him?

"I don't want this to be just a fling. But I value your friendship . . ." This was harder than he'd expected. He hadn't had to tell someone how much she meant to him since Sarah, and that had been because he wanted to be on at least civil terms with the mother of his child. "I don't want to screw this up, so let's take things slowly."

"Oh, thank God!" Reggie was relieved. "You know my luck with men and I thought . . . Well, I'd hate to rush things, especially considering your track record with women."

"So we're in agreement. We'll, uh, tread lightly. Do you, do you want to see other men?"

"Do you want to see other women?" she countered.

"Oh, you mean, because of all the offers I get on a daily basis?" he joked.

They shared a chuckle. "Yeah, I guess we could . . . be monogamous without rushing into anything."

"Come here, you." He enveloped her in his arms. "This is nice, isn't it?" He enjoyed the smell of her shampoo.

Wait. When had she brought her shampoo over?

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, that's all I have for this story!

As I admitted before, I never cared much for Chris. If I bashed her in this story, I do apologise, but it just came out that way. Can you imagine how the show might've gone had this happened instead of the way things went at the start of the fifth season?

I, of course, own nothing, not the series, not the characters, except for Aileen and this particular narrative. But it's only a fanfiction story, so I make absolutely no money from this. I just preferred the idea of Becker with Reggie instead of Chris!

Thanks for reading! And don't forget to review! Thanks, FreakShowJSB, for motivating me to finish this story when I originally had it up! And thank you, Tobic, for the review! I'm glad you enjoyed and happy I was able to give you a nice, albeit belated, birthday present!

You'll see more of Aileen in other Becker-fics I'm planning on putting up. I've had those plot bunnies hopping around in my head for about five or six years now. She's also in my House-fics; hey, who would be a better match for Gregory House than John Becker's daughter, right? And I'm sure you can imagine how _well_ House and Becker get along!


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